Serendipity
by SaphFireUnderIce
Summary: FBI and Anthropology intersect at a junction that creates unintentional paths.
1. Consternation

**1**

Consternation

"Booth, you missed the exit," she less than exclaimed with the faintest hint of superciliousness.

"I did not," he replied, feigning oblivion at having zipped past exit 51B at a ridiculous speed.

She turned to look at him, incredulous. "Booth, I'm sitting right here and watched you drive past that exit! I don't know why you don't get a GPS system like normal people."

"Ha! Did you just imply that I'm not normal? You? Seriously? Wow. "

"Well, what's that supposed to mean?" she implored, then, deciding it was unimportant, proceeded, "It is true, though. I mean, at this stage of technological advancement, I can't imagine anyone who could afford it not possessing a rudimentary device like a GPS in their vehicle, especially in a line of work where one spends a good portion of their time driving. It just seems…" she paused momentarily then continued, "irrational. Even I have one and I hardly even drive my car because I'm always riding in yours," she stated coolly .

"Okay, so let me get this straight," he retorted, his knuckles slightly gripping the steering wheel. "First, you have the audacity to call me abnormal-I mean YOU, of all people, THEN, I'm irrational for not having a GPS, and NOW you have a problem riding in my car? You are _really _pushing it there, Bones." His tone caused her mouth to drop slightly, forming an oblong "O," but didn't prevent her retaliation.

"I never called you abnormal. I simply stated that the average person, particularly one in your profession, would own a GPS, which, by the way, is obviously a necessity for you, given that you insist on going in the wrong direction." She illustrated her point by offering her hand toward the windshield. "Even if you don't want to purchase a device that will undoubtedly help you where you are clearly inept, the least you could do is stop and ask for directions. I just don't understand what is so difficult about it. Must be the male ego entering into some antiquated portion of your brain" she mumbled.

He turned to face her, this time his jaw set and knuckles pale as he clutched the steering wheel so hard he could feel calluses in their primary stage of formation. "Alright Bones, you know what? I don't NEED any directions or a stupid GPS, okay? I know where I'm going and I know what I'm doing! I'm driving. Not you. Me," he declared pointing to himself definitively.

"Well then why are we still going in the wrong direction? It doesn't appear as though you have an alternate route in mind. And I'm quite aware of the fact that I'm not driving since I'm in the passenger seat and you obviously feel I'm an invalid incapable of operating a motor vehicle," she tersely stated.

Now it was his turn to form the "O." "Now you're attacking me because I won't let you drive? Okay. Okay. Fine. You want it? You'll get it."

She peered at him, a mixture of surprise and confusion spreading across her features as he jerked the Escalade across two lanes of traffic to the shoulder of the freeway and slammed to a halting stop. He unbuckled the constrictive seatbelt and turned to face her as fully as the space would allow, a stern mask befalling his visage, his eyes dark. "You wanna know why I won't let you drive? Huh? You really wanna know?" Without giving her a chance to reply, he continued, his voice rising an octave with each sentence, "The reason I won't let you drive is the same reason the FBI won't let you have a gun—because you're a nutcase! You believe yourself to be this superior rational being who walks around thinking the world should operate on a premise that's as cold and unfeeling as the tables you examine your damn bones on! You think you're soooo rational and right all the time, but what you fail to realize is that all those people who you think are so stupid and irrational, including myself, are the ones who aren't missing out on anything. You are! While the rest of us _irrational people_ are enjoying our lives and sharing them with people we love and people who _understand_ love, YOU are the one who'll be ALONE, just like you are now, just like you'll always be. Not us!" he finalized, seething as miniscule beads of sweat took residence on his forehead.

At the conclusion of his rant, Brennan felt something building within her. Something she was sure could not be identified with a microscope or any forensic tool. Something she was unsure of how to classify. She wasn't sure when it had reached its peak or how to slow it down, but as those icy words fell from his mouth, she thought she felt a twitch in her eye, and before either of them could fully comprehend, a loud discordance crackled the air as her delicate hand made acute contact with his left cheek. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. He saw it flash it her eyes for that amount of time. He didn't think it possible. Pure hatred, completely untainted, had taken residence in her cerulean orbs.

Before he had time to breathe, absorb, question, she snatched her bag from the floor and opened the passenger door in one swift movement. The 2,000 lbs. of metal shook as the door slammed. Booth watched her through the passenger side window as she disappeared across the ditch into a heavily wooded area at an unfounded speed, his face still stinging from her abuse. He stared at that window until he saw no movement for what seemed 10 light years. A series of speeding trucks zoomed by, the vibration rattling the bulky vehicle, reigning him back in from outer space. Glancing at the clock on the dash, he noted the time. 3:23 pm. It was Wednesday. An ordinary Wednesday. Not a dreaded Monday. Not a catch-up Tuesday. An ordinary, middle-of-the-week, hump-day Wednesday. That's what he thought when he woke up this morning. Until now. Now, he understood what today was. What significance it held. Today was the day that Temperance Brennan walked out of his life.


	2. Exhale

**2**

**Exhale**

She walked briskly, twigs and branches crunching beneath her feet, aimlessly wandering through the woods. She tripped several times, the last time nearly losing her balance, only to regain her composure just before succumbing to a head first dive into an unseen culvert. It was roughly one foot deep and five and a half feet long, filled with dried leaves. "That was close," she breathlessly mumbled to no one. She felt useless and vulnerable. When had she ever been this clumsy and unfocused? Her emotions subsided long enough to allow curiosity to take a front seat as she stooped before the culvert, letting her bag slide carelessly down her arm. Lifting her head back, she inhaled deeply and slowly released a long, disembodied breath that lightly shook her weary frame.

A tranquility had settled over the trees and the air engulfed her in its stifling humidity. Something wasn't right. This was the middle of the woods, yes, but the air was too moist and the leaves were too dry and…and she was too…too angry! How could he say that to her? How could he accuse her of being heartless and lonely? He basically called her a bitch! All because she told him to get a GPS? What went wrong? She knelt in front of the dead leaves, sitting back on her feet and stared before her. Nothing was right today. Her eyelids closed as she recalled how this disadvantageous day had started.

_She had woken up to a warm, slightly sticky dampness between her legs. Resentfully, she opened her eyes and peered at the red numbers on the clock. 4:14 am. Throwing back her Egyptian cotton sheets, she slid from her bed and strode to the bathroom. Eyes still saturated with sleep, she reached for the bottom drawer of her bathroom vanity before heavily plopping down on the toilet. Naturally, being the genius she was, she could rationalize the existence of quarks and expertly debate the decline of philanthropy in modern societies, but she couldn't keep track of her period. Leaving the bathroom, now properly armed, she quietly crept back into bed, throwing the sheet over her shoulder. Then she felt dampness on her outer thigh. "Dammit!" she cursed through gritted teeth as she realized the source of her newfound aggravation. Carelessly slapping her hand on the nightstand, her fingers eventually brushed against the lamp and found the switch, as she left her bed for the second time in a matter of 3 minutes. A bright red spot lay there in the center of her sheets, taunting her. She snatched all the covers off the bed, along with the mattress pad, dragged them down the hall to her stackable washer/dryer and unceremoniously dumped them into the washer with too much detergent. Marching back into her bedroom she yanked the closet door open to pull a fresh set of sheets onto her naked bed. Realizing the mattress pad was still in the washer, she dropped the sheets in the center of the bed, huffed, grabbed her pillow and headed for her living room sofa. Sprawling there, she allowed sleep to finally overcome her. 45 minutes and a throbbing headache later, a cacophony filled the silence and reverberated into her slumbering eardrums. The alarm clock. Slapping her forehead, regretfully, and letting out a groan, she literally rolled off the sofa onto the hardwood floor and crawled around it, rounding her back to ease into a standing position. Creature of habit she was, Brennan made her way to the source of the offensive noise through the dark hallway into her lair, but before reaching her nightstand, she swore the bed stuck its foot out and kicked her in the shin. "Ow! Dammmn Ittt!" She limped to the noisy contraption and swatted it into off position. This was going to be one of __**those**__ days. _

_She spent no more than ten minutes in the shower before her blackberry chimed its way into her solitude. Luckily for her, she left it on top of the hamper next to the shower in case it rang. Quickly sliding the shower door aside to grab the phone, she answered curtly "Brennan." "Hey, we got a case. I'll be by to pick you up in 20." "Okay." She fumbled to end the call, and in the midst of her fumble, dropped the phone next to her feet where the shower had full access to the keys. Haphazardly shutting off the water she turned the blackberry upside down to drain the liquid from it, in hopes of preserving the annoying thing. She hit a few keys. Nothing. She removed, dried and replaced the battery. Dead. Letting out an audible sigh, she placed the thing on top of vanity and toweled off. "Nothing to be done about that now." _

_Getting dressed proved to be a fairly easy task, and so did chasing two advil down with water. The door buzzer rang and she opened it to find Booth smiling with a bag of donuts in one hand and a tray with two hot coffees in the other. Her day was improving. Or so she thought._

Now, here she was kneeling before a pile of leaves, gazing at nothing. She was cold, heartless and would die alone. That's what he told her. Her head bowed slowly to her chest as she remembered. He was the one person she had confided in and trusted 100%. He knew her completely, more than she knew herself, she sometimes thought. And she had belittled him, made him feel stupid, knowing that he had always felt that way around her anyway. Maybe she _was_ heartless. Maybe she _would_ die alone. Because now he had betrayed her. Now she knew how he _really _felt. She silently thanked him for telling her the truth as her vision blurred and moisture flowed in a steady stream down the sides of her drawn face.

He was unaware he had been holding his breath after that fucking broad sent that stinging slap across his face. He released it in a shaky puff. What. The. Fuck? Brennan had slapped him! Hard. This was worse than when she punched him. He told her what was on his mind-In the worst possible way. But she was so degrading and rude to him. So obnoxious and haughty. He did miss the exit. Still, it didn't warrant her putting him down. He didn't deserve that. But if he knew Brennan- Bones- he knew she would not intentionally say anything to hurt him. She was simply being herself. Her unrelenting, rational, matter-of-fact, unfeeling self. Unfeeling? No, he knew that wasn't true. He had seen her weakened so many times by emotions she couldn't handle. To say she was unfeeling was an oxymoron. Her parents abandoned her. Her brother did the same. She had few friends. And he told her she was a nutcase who would always be alone. Another oxymoron. She was the most brilliant person he knew. And to exclaim that she was doomed to loneliness after the shitty hand life dealt her was an embarrassing kick in the ribs. "Shit!" He pounded the steering wheel as if it were dough and his hand were the pinroller. And he let her walk away. He released another long exhale.

Eternity seemed to pass before she stopped crying. Then she remembered. Something was wrong. She had to figure out what it was. The leaves. Her hand brushed the top of the culvert. They were dry. And the air was moist. Dank, even. She shifted forward, replacing her sorrowful look with one of scrutiny, furrowing her brow. She grasped a handful of leaves. Crunch, crinkle, crunch. Another handful. Crackle, crunch, crackle. Without regard for potential dangers, like sharp twigs or discarded needles, she began thrashing the leaves out of the culvert with both hands, eager to get to the bottom. Thrash, swish, thrash. Her near maniacal movements ceased when her fingertips made contact with something hard. She touched again not really looking at what she was touching, for there were so many leaves. It felt plastic. Brushing the leaves aside, she revealed the object. A white, quarter-sized button.


End file.
